Lost in Translation
by Lasgalendil
Summary: No one ever said babysitting an Elf and a Dwarf would be easy! Legolas likes to sing, Gimli likes to smoke, both of them like to argue…and neither of them speaks English. Needless to say, Ida Anderson just wants them gone. #Balannor or bust!
1. This Is Song About A Song About A Bird

Of three things I was absolutely certain:

1-Legolas was a vampire.

2-There was a part of him—and I didn't know how strong that part of his personality might be—that wanted my blood.

3-I was unconditionally and irrevocably and entirely just fucking with you.

A Legomance—? With _Meyerpires_—?

…bitch, please. What follows are the entirely irreverent, shamelessly swear-filled, absolutely awkward adventures of Ida Anderson*. Insane song-fic. Discretion is advised. Read at your own risk:

Alas for the songs!

No peace shall I have

Under beech or elm.*

* * *

***Elessar's General Warning: May contain pears and a shit ton of Sindarin. **Ida Anderson cannot be held responsible for mental damages inflicted by reading this fic or by repeating any of the songs therein. Ida Anderson does not own any copyrighted characters presented in this fic, and indeed if you or your organization does, then please for the love of fuck just take them back.

[Also, today in shameless self-promotion, you can read more about her "Girl-Falls-Into-Middle-earth: The Musical"–style misfortunes in _Evenstar, Evenstill, Close Encounters of the First Kind, and The Last of Us_.]

*Or, as Legolas sings it:

_Nê! an i-lêr!_

_ú-'arathon hîdh_

_nu ferin egor leif._


	2. I Effing Love Grammar

So this is how fucked up my life is: When I was a kid, just learning to read, I had this game I'd play in the car. I'd read road signs, billboards, anything and everything and just sing the damn things over and over and over again until we happened to pass something else. Drove my brother Scott fucking crazy.

…after three days with Legolas, I was starting to understand why.

Has the sun ever come out from behind a cloud? Legolas has a song for that. Have you ever seen a bird? Legolas has a song for that. Has the wind ever blown or stopped blowing? Legolas has a song for that, too. Food? Drink? An comfortable pause in a conversation? Awkward silence? Split ends? To no one's great surprise, Legolas has a song for that.

This morning's little ditty went something like this*:

_Anor thinna, thinna hí, sí thinna_

_i-'wêw 'weda, gweda hí, sí ven 'weda_

_in-êw 'liriar, gliriar hí, sí 'liriar_

_A! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha_

_A! Tiro, tiro, tiro hon!_

_A! Lasto, lasto, lasto hain!_

_._

_Ithil huila, suila hí, sí ven suila_

_i-chwest chwinia, chwinia hí, sí chwinia_

_i-chebyr 'lavrar, glavrar hí, sí 'lavrar_

_A! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha_

_A! Tiro, tiro, tiro hen!_

_A! Lasto, lasto, lasto hain!_

_._

_Êl híla, síla hí, sí híla_

_i-hûl thuia, thuia hí, sí thuia_

_in-edhil 'ladhar, gladhar hí, sí 'ladhar_

_A! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha_

_A! Tiro, tiro, tiro han!_

_A! Lasto, lasto, lasto ven!_

Look, you don't have to tell me how lucky I am. I, Ida Anderson, had just spent the last ninety-six hours straight with a living, breathing, actual real-live Elf from Tolkien's Legendarium. I even got to meet the last two living members of the Fellowship of the Ring, for fuck's sake…

But you know what they say: don't ever meet your heroes*.

I know, I know, I know. I should've taken opportunity to improve my Sindarin from an actual native speaker. I should've asked the guy how old he was. Should've asked who his mom was, where she was from, and whether she was still alive during the event of LotR. Hell, I could've solved the ages-old fanon debate of whether he and Gimli were BroTP or OTP…but the only think I could fucking think of (besides how the hell was I going to get them back to 'Balannor' where they belonged and out of my hair, thank you very much) was: Whee! I love to sing! I look good when I sing! I also look good standing still*.

Does Tolkien describe him as fair of face* 'beyond the measure of men'? Yes. Did Tolkien also tell us he sang an 'elven-song in a clear voice' as he was walking around Lórien, Gondor or Lebennin? Yes. But did Tolkien ever once in six books (and a shit-ton of appendices) mention how Very. Fucking. Annoying. he was?

…meh. Subtext, I suppose.

* * *

*Ida Anderson is not a native Sindarin speaker. Ida Anderson takes no responsibility for terrible grammar or vocabulary learned by readers repeating this song. Ida Anderson also takes no responsibility for impending wrongful death suits or charges of mental cruelty that may result from singing this song aloud.

Sun is fading, fading now, now fading

The wind surrounds, surrounds now, now surrounds us

The birds are trilling, trilling now, now trilling

Oh! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha

Oh! Look, look, look at him!

Oh! Hear them, hear them, hear them!

.

Moon greets us, greets us now, now greets us

The breeze is whirling, whirling now, now whirling

The frogs are babbling, babbling now, now babbling

Oh! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha

Oh! Look, look, look at her!

Oh! Hear them, hear them, hear them!

.

A star is shining, shining now, now shining

The wind is blowing, blowing now, now blowing

The elves are laughing, laughing now, now laughing

Oh! Fa-la-la-la, la-lha, la-lha

Oh! Look, look, look at it!

Oh! Hear us, hear us, hear us!

And it suddenly occurs to me, now that I'm translating this thing [in my defense, the tune was fucking catchy], that teaching me Sindarin was _exactly what he was trying to do all along_. Present tense, simple, repetitive rhymes (alright, alright 'alliteration'—Elves liked the beginnings of their words to sound the same, we English speakers have an obsession with endings) with obviously exaggerated grammar motifs? Thing's a fucking lullaby/Sesame Street/Hank Green Song combination [which I've now titled 'I Fucking Love Grammar'].

…sorry for calling you a useless ponce, Legs. In hindsight, you're a goddamned genius.

*Also, 'Do not go to the Elves for council, for they will sing you bat-shittingly insane.'

*Damn you, _The Very Secret Diaries_. Damn you to heck and the eternal Void. I hope you get Melkor as a cellmate. But seriously, they're some brilliant parodies.

*How the hell should I know? Go ask a straight girl, sheesh.


	3. The Dwarf and The Maiden Fair

The thing you have to understand about Elves and Dwarves is they fucking fight like, well…Elves and Dwarves. Gimli smoked and stank, while Legolas kept himself painstakingly clean. I'm sure their friendship was deep and all, what with Legs being willing to take said stinky, grumpy, cantankerous Dwarf to Balannor with him (arriving with a Dwarf—you'd never live that down*). And I'm likewise positive I only saw them under extreme duress, you know, the 'let's sail off to Balannor together and oh, shit, how the hell did we end up here' sort of variety. So any witnessed interactions and subsequent commentary must be taken into consideration as not being typical of either themselves or their species.

…but yeah. They fought like an old married couple*. The two of them couldn't do anything without first having an argument. Every goddamned time I turned around they'd invented a new squabble.

And sure, some of it was a bit endearing, but the sheer amount of name-calling was just ridiculous. For example:

If Legolas said 'Gimli', that was fine.

If Gimli said 'Legolas', that was fine.

If Legolas said 'mellon', that was fine.

If Legolas said 'meldir' or 'meldir nîn' or 'Gimli, meldir nîn', or—on the very, very rare occasion— 'Gimli, meldirem', that too was fine.

But when Gimli purposefully called him 'meldis', that most certainly _wasn't._

Likewise, if Legolas called him 'naug', 'gorn'—or especially 'nogotheg'—that was bad, like, get chased around the room with a raised axe let-swearing-ensue bad. But 'narag' 'Anfang' or 'Hothod' were okay.

If Gimli flushed and used the term 'barabatta', Legolas would just laugh. [I never could quite catch everything Gimli called him. To be honest, from a Dwarf, it all sort of sounds like Khuzdul*.]

But if you've ever wanted a guide on Elf/Dwarf relations, racial assumptions/micro-aggressions or how NOT to address a Dwarf (and/or incontrovertible proof of your OTP ship that sails itself all the way to Valinor), look no further than this helpful drinking song* composed by Leggy-dear*:

_Nê! Naug, naug, naug ginnog!_

_Nê! Naug, naug, naug thostol!_

_Nê! Naug, naug, naug 'waur!_

_Nê! Naug, naug, achadarch!_

_Nê! Naug, naug, naug ercheb!_

_Û! i-'Orn grann, i-'orn 'êr!_

_i-Nogotheg na fang sui chelf!_

_._

_A! Naug, naug, i-naugol ginnog nîn_

_A! Naug, naug, i-naugol thostol nîn_

_A! Naug, naug, i-naugol 'waur nîn_

_A! Naug, i-naugol vilui nîn_

_A! Naug, naug i-naugol 'elir nîn_

_Ai! i-Anfang grann, i-anfang dhêr!_

_i-Chathod nîn na fang sui chelf!_

Just don't be stupid enough to go around singing if there's any chance there's Dwarves nearby, as it will almost fucking certainly get you killed.

* * *

*Literally never. When you live forever with perfect memories I imagine you still get teased about shit you did centuries ago.

*An old, married, interracial/trans-species, celibate heterosexual couple that is. I'm telling you, as loud as these two are, if anything naughty had gone on I'd've heard it. Gimli's not exactly subtle or quiet, and you can be damn certain Legs would have a song for _that_ as well [which I'm trying really, really hard now NOT to imagine].

…but the answer to your question is yes. Regardless if they've ever had/will never have tantric, dirty, sexy times, they're STILL a better love story than _Twilight._

*I mean, I doubt he'd be speaking Khuzdul in front of anyone but other Dwarves, so it was probably Westron, or even Sindarin, since Legs was trying to teach him, too. Although if any Dwarf was going to break the taboo of speaking Khuzdul in front of a non-dwarf (especially and Elf!) it'd be Gimli.

*So without further adieu, I present you my translation of Legolas' Racist Drinking Song [or as I call it, 'The Dwarf and the Maiden Fair']

Oh no, a dwarf, a dwarf, a stinking dwarf!

Oh no, a dwarf, a dwarf, a dirty dwarf!

Oh no, a dwarf, a stiff-necked dwarf!

Oh no, a dwarf, a dwarf, a prickly dwarf!

No! The ruddy dwarf, the **awful dwarf!

The dwarf with a beard like fur!

.

Oh, a dwarf, a dwarf, my short little dwarf

Oh, a dwarf, a dwarf, my stinking little dwarf

Oh, a dwarf, a dwarf, my dirty little dwarf

Oh, a dwarf, my friendly little dwarf

Oh, a dwarf, a dwarf, my merry little dwarf

Yes! The ruddy dwarf, the great, great dwarf!

My dwarf with a beard like fur!

In order to fully appreciate the humor/horribleness of this song, you have to realize the etymology of each word for Dwarf. 'Naug' means 'stunted one', a very rude, approximating the n-word (see what I did there?) for a Dwarves, possibly even dating back to a time the Noldor hunted them down for sport. 'Gorn' (mutated to ''orn') is even worse! Nogotheg literally means 'the Petty-Dwarf', not only a further insult in stature, but a character smear as well, given that the Petty-Dwarves like Mîm were outcasts from their own kin, not to mention back-stabbing evil mother-fuckers. So as you can see, the first verse gets progressively ruder [Think 'well, that escalated quickly'.].

'Naugol' is a diminutive form of 'naug', so it signifies endearment, yet still in a racist sort of way. 'Anfang' means Longbeard, a reference to Dwarves being bearded, yes, but also more specifically it's a Sindarin translation of their own words signifying to the line of Durin the Deathless, so it's quite culturally appropriate. Lastly, 'Hathod' [which mutates to 'Chathod' as a certain part of speech] is a Sindarinization of the Dwarves' word for themselves: Khazad, probably the politest thing an Elf could say.

…which brings us lastly to the use of 'nîn' throughout the second verse—which, despite 'humanizing' this short, stinking, dirty, yet friendly and merry great, ruddy Dwarf the singer is so apparently fond of—this tongue in cheek possessive simultaneously delegates him to the role of an accessory, i.e. dehumanizing him.

**Legolas, it appears, is quite fond of puns. 'Gaer' (which becomes 'gêr' in his literally backwoods dialect, and further mutates to 'êr) can mean red, copper, or ruddy, but it's also a homophone to terrible or awful. This line can be read both 'the ruddy, ruddy dwarf' and 'the ruddy dwarf, the awful dwarf'. 'Daer' (which beomces dêr in his dialect then mutates on to 'dhêr') means great. It not only rhymes, but has the exact opposite connotation as the purposefully ambiguous 'gaer', which would make any Elf snigger.

*Or Leggi, the Dwarfist Elf-Prince, if you prefer a _Flight of the Concords_ Reference. Either way if you haven't read _The Impressive Adventures of Thorin the Majestic_ (hereafter known as 'Oakentoons') by Peckish Owl yet, you're really missing out.


	4. Singing in the Rain

So here's the thing they never tell you about transdimensional/metafictional/transpecies houseguests from Middle-earth (unless it's a terrible Legomance or a 'please-just Kíli-me-now fic', in which case you'll never hear the fucking end of it): sooner or later, due to cross-cultural differences and/or circumstances completely outside of your control you will accidentally end up seeing one or both of your houseguests naked*.

Elves have no indoor plumbing*, and Elves have no concept of indoor plumbing. I won't even begin to get into trying to explain to you how I had to convince them to use the toilet*. They don't have washing machines, showers, or dishwashers, either. They do, however, have an insatiable urge to be as clean as possible. […which, if you're unfortunate enough to play host to both an Elf _and_ a Dwarf, the Dwarf will continuously use to his advantage.]

So when Legs disappeared into the bathroom for like, half an hour or whatever, I felt (as his 21st century host) mildly compelled to go in and check on him*.

"You okay in there?" I asked as I rapped on the door. _Please, oh please don't tell me I'm going to have to explain what a boner is or something_, I distinctly remember thinking. It's not that Elves didn't have sex* or didn't like sex or didn't understand sex, it was just that between the two of them, Gimli was the grumpy old man and Legs was the perpetually happy, prepubescent Pollyanna. It was like trying to babysit a senile, farting, butt-grabbing grandpa and a six year-old all at once.

"_Im vae!_" he sang. Elves will sing fucking anything. It's like living with the characters of goddamned _Les Miserables*_ 24/7.

"Can I come in? Er, _minnon_?" I asked.

"_Ma! Minno, minno!_" And he said/sang it so damn innocently, too. Needless to say, I've since then adopted the ages old Dwarf adage that Gimli is ever so fond of muttering: Never trust an Elf.

I opened the door and let out a very undignified eek!, which of course, prompted him to face me, as if seeing his whiter-shade-of-pale Elf-ass wasn't already scarring enough, he had to go full-frontal on me, too [And no. I don't want to talk about it.].

"Aahguh, ergabuguh, wha—FUCK!" I finally managed to shout cohesively.

"_Man gin prestannen?"_ he asked, bewildered.

"You're naked!"

"_Man? Ú-chenion i-lam gîn_."

"Ech…penn-hammad?" I tried.

"_Ben-chammad_," he corrected, because right fucking now was a valuable educational opportunity to teach me perfect Elven lenition. "_Egor pedig 'parch'_."

"Parch, bennchammad, buttass naked, I don't care what you call it! You don't tell a girl to come into the bathroom when you're…like this! The hell were you thinking!"

"_Amman gin presta?" _You could see it in his eyes, 'like, Ida, what the hell-?'

In hindsight, it's actually a good question. I mean, why is it acceptable for scantily clad females and shirtless dudes to bombard us in purposefully oversexed advertising all the time regardless of context, but a naked guy in a bathroom is socially distressing? Also, I'm pretty sure he'd already accidentally stumbled across Scott's not-so-cleverly hidden stash of Vanessa/Scott semi-pornographic boudoir photos that they took for his last deployment, so try explaining _that_ through a language, cultural, and species barrier. "Because that's not fucking normal!" I argued instead, trying my best to avert my eyes. "Can I offer you anything? Towel? Bathmat? Strategically placed shampoo bottle? The hell are you doing in here, anyways?"

"_Hai 'wathannen_." His clothes soaking in the sink should've been my first clue.

Second fun fact about Elves—or at least a certain son of Thranduil: when they pack up to leave for Balannor, they forget to bring a change of clothing. [Later I'd ask, and it turns out they left their luggage back on the ship…but _still_.]

I'm no expert in Elf taxonomy, physiology, or male anatomy of any sorts, but I was pretty fucking certain Legs here wasn't supposed to be as sparkling as goddamn stupid motherfucking Edward Cullen. On further inspection, he was just covered in streaming beads of water*. "Wait, were you taking a bath—?" More like good ol' stand up-scrub down.

"_Eithro, thostassen sui Chathod_," he shrugged. "_Nê! Sui Chathod_ _i onur_ _ned_ _lêr_. _Adh osp galenas_—_úvêr, Zâra-Tôbi*!_"

_You know nothing, John Snow_, I sighed. "C'mon, dumbass," I shoved him into the shower.

"_Û! Ring!_" he cried in protest as the cold water hit him.

Third fun fact: Elves are naturally curious creatures. They've usually just lived so long that there's nothing new to see, is all. Presented with novelty, they will go crazy like capering kittens on catnip laced with amphetamines. Also, given the chance, they will joyously dismantle fucking any and everything in an attempt to learn how it works to disastrous effects (we've already had a few near misses with the toaster and oven).

Needless to say, I hadn't even been able to turn the hot water on for him before he'd managed to unsnap the extendible shower head, sending water spraying haphazardly all around the bathroom, curtain or no. The thing went hissing and spewing and thrashing like a snake.

"_Ai! ai!"_ he wailed.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" I shouted, trying to wrest it under control and point it in a generally tub-like direction. [Scott had this absolute military disdain for mildew and would squeegee the entire fucking bathroom down daily.] He tried—he really did—but ended up just turning the hot water on instead of the cold water down, doubling the water pressure and sending that thing hurtling from my hands again.

"Goddamnit, Legs!" I shouted, blinded by spray, soaking wet, with the spouting monstrosity I was wrestling oscillating somewhere between ice cold and searing hot. "Turn them _inwards_—_!" _but of course, he had no idea what I was saying and continued to whirl them at random in a futile attempt at helpfulness.

It was only in that moment when he was dancing around in frantic, naked circles and I was bent over coughing after aspirating a face-full of freezing cold water that Scott barged in, knocked us both aside, and grasped both handles with enough ferocity to nearly wrench them from the wall.

The shower nozzle gave one last, triumphant sputter, then fell limp, trickling off into nothing. "What the hell are you two doing?" he thundered.

"Hot kinky shower sex, what does it look like?" I demanded, wiping sopped hair from my eyes and straightening."Also, I'm twenty-six years old and I can stand up for myself, thank you very much, so cool it with all the big brothering. Dipshit here doesn't understand water pressure, is all." I gestured to Legs, cringing meekly.

I should point out that Scott, despite being the 'bestest big brother in the world' when it came to understanding and supporting me, wasn't as big on overt gestures of unintentional male homoeroticism as the fanon. "Would you just give him a towel or something?" he growled.

Yeah. Elves. They know their bodies are beautiful and don't think a thing of it* (they also don't get our taboo obsession with genitals). I handed him a towel, and he just wrapped it around his shoulders like a shaw, and began wringing his hair.

Scott looked like he might punch a mirror. Or drop-kick a baby.

"C'mon, Scott," I begged, putting a placating hand on his arm and doing my very best little sister eyes. "Can't we just put this all behind us as a big misunderstanding? I'll promise I'll clean up all the mess—"

He just let out a long, long, long-suffering sigh.

"Say you're sorry," I ordered Legs. We'd done this enough now he knew exactly what it meant.

"_Gohenno nîn_," he bowed.

Scott just glowered.

"There, see? He's sorry. Now can we all just be friends—" But Elves are emotionally complex, incredibly social creatures like whales and no Elven greeting, farewell, or apology was ever complete without the obligatory face-kissing. Without warning, Legs just went for it.

"Ida—" Scott began, fists clenched at his sides, absolutely fuming.

"Just go," I shoved him out, and shoved a dripping Legs back into the shower, improperly placed towel on all. "And you? Your whole 'kiss and make up thing'? It's not really helping!"

"Everything okay in there?" Vanessa poked her head around the corner, Scott's loud protestations and absence not having gone unnoticed.

"We're fine!" I jumped in front of Legs to spare her the sight.

She raised one austere eyebrow, taking him in from head to toes in a lingering manner that is best labeled seriously creepy*. "Mmm-hmm," she crossed her arms appreciatively. "Girl, he is _wasted_ on you."

"_Man ebênt_?" asked Legolas as I slammed the door on both of them.

"Trust me," I slid down with my back against it to sit in a puddle. "You don't want to know."

Fourth fun fact: For as eco-consciously hipster as they seem, Elves do NOT understand the concept of the five minute shower. And I know, I know. I should've seen it coming. Of course he fucking sings in the shower*:

_Bannen, bannen_

_i-thross dhannen_

_O hi-fein_

_nan ered_

_nan chelys_

_nan sir_

_i-sir i hiriar nan êar!_

_Nan êar! Nan êar!_

_Siriath hiriar nan êar!_

_Bannen, bannen_

_A! Rhoss dhannen_

_Awathanneg i-mbar gîn_

_Awathathan i-mbar nîn_

_O hin-eryn_

_Nan ered_

_Nan ethiriath o Lebennin_

_Na vedui Anduin i hiria nan êar._

_Nan êar, nan êar!_

_Na Anduin i hiria nan êar!_

_Bannen, bannen_

_Ai! Rhoss dhannen_

_i-thryss bain dannar_

_i-lais bain phelir_

_in-estil bain pelir_

_Rheviathon nef i-êaron_

_A, Rhoss dhannen_

_Tiro nîn, tiro nîn_

_Aderthatham athan i-êaron._

My advice, if you ever find yourself with the Fellowship on your front porch or not simply BAMF!-ing* into Mordor, take a blindfold. And earplugs. And possibly Xanex. If there's an Elf or a Dwarf nearby, you're going to need them.

* * *

*Today on _Things You Can't Unsee_…

Newsflash: Naked Elves are NOT sexy. They are the antithesis, exact opposite, antipodes, antonym and alarmingly furthest thing from sexy ever invented. They are #bodyshaming #selfloathing #self-consciousness personified. You could be Horny von Manstaff or Mary McSkankpole from Fuckville, Fuckania, and it still wouldn't matter. Once you've gotten a glimpse of Elf _au natural,_ sex will be the very last thing on your mind again ever. That supple skin. Lean muscle tone. Every inch as flawlessly smooth as a baby's ass, no wrinkles, no stretch marks, no cellulite, no scarring, no sagging, no awkward dimpling or puckering or gathering…I'm not a guy and I'm not straight, but the sight STILL makes me want to go bust a mirror, stab my eyes out, then hide under a balaclava/burqa for the rest of my life and/or crawl into a hole and kill myself. Maybe both. The sight of Legolas in the buff would give fucking Lupita Nyong'o body image issues.

…I don't think I have to even bother warning you about the danger of Dwarves.

[This Public Service Announcement is brought to you by Ida Anderson.]

*Elves need no indoor plumbing! Wait, sorry. That's Gondor.

*Or how with Gimli I've come to regret it ever since. But seriously, the last thing you need when you have Middle-earth visitors you're trying desperately to conceal from the NYPD (FBI, CIA, Area 51, S.H.I.E.L.D., UNIT, TORCHWOOD, the Batman or whoever the hell comes to dissect and study accidental time travelers) is a charge of public indecency for weeing out on the lawn in front of young school children.

*Ordinarily when a guy does that, you'd think he was having some 'special time alone with himself' if you know what I mean, but I was pretty sure Elves didn't do that. Dwarves, on the other hand…let's just say Tolkien said less than a third of them ever marry, but also noted that they're very, _very_ skilled with their hands [And sometimes their tongues—as Galadriel felt compelled to share with us about Gimli. TMI, Lady of Lórien, TMI…].

*Calm your tits, Legolas shippers. They're immortal and hot, yes; but they're also sexually monogamous, don't divorce, and 'even after death don't we part'. They also want kids. LOTS of kids. That's the reason they're all single and sad and so fucking lonely because seriously, you take one look around Middle-earth and you'd wait several hundred millennia before having a baby, too. Could an Elf love you? Improbable, but yes. Would he marry you/fuck you? No. Most likely he'll just pack his shit and send his big brother to make excuses _a la_ '_Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth'_ and ask you to "wait for him", despite your fleeting mortality. The angst is so not worth it.

…you'd have much better luck with Elven women, and by luck I mean it's happened maybe four times in the history of ever. Still, that's a 400% increase over dudes, so I'll take my chances on Arwen, thanks.

*Sans Russell Crowe, thank the fucking Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever in vogue non-deity we're thanking these days.

*Rule 34! Quick, go register the domain name WetElves. Com! We could make a killing off of wet Elf porn! Also, really, really go check out Randall Munroe's xkcd, seeing as I just completely stole that gag from him [insert shameless product placement here].

*At least I knew what that meant: Old Toby. The first rule of Dwarf-sitting is you do not touch the Zâra-Tôbi. The second rule of Dwarf-sitting is you do NOT touch the Zâra-Tôbi. The third rule of Dwarf-sitting is you do _not fucking touch_ the Zâra-Tôbi.

*#BeCasuallyNaked. Both Legolas and the Doctor approve.

*Yeah, thanks Vanessa. Like I wasn't already having a hard enough time trying to convince my brother to let my 26 year-old ass and my two erstwhile friends crash at your house, you had to go letting on you had the hots for one of them.

[I guess I should mention at this point Scott still thought he was brain-damaged ex-Austrian or Swiss special forces, and Vanessa was still thoroughly convinced he was a psychotic, amnesic male model. I mean, YOU try having a drug use history and telling your family members that your new-found friends were straight out of a fictional book and/or movie franchise. See how that goes.]

*As if Pippin's bath song in FotR wasn't enough [what strange obsession does Tolkien have about vaguely homoerotic Hobbit group naked times, anyways?], you know you officially have no life whatsoever when you have no better hobby than to record and translate the inane bubble bath babbling of your friendly neighborhood nudist nutjob. I call this one 'Shower Song' (I'm not great at puns, **okay?):

Gone, gone

The fallen rain

From the clouds

To the mountains

To the springs

To the rivers

The rivers that lead to the sea

To the sea, to the sea!

All rivers lead to the sea!

Gone, gone

Oh fallen rain

You left your home

I will leave mine

From the forest

To the mountains

To the rivermouths of Lebennin

at last to Anduin that leads to the sea

To the sea! To the sea!

To Anduin that leads to the sea!

Gone, gone

Alas! Fallen rain

All rain must fall

All leaves must wither

All hopes must fade

I will sail beyond the great sea

Oh fallen rain

Watch for me, watch for me

We will meet again far across the great sea

**And yea all of Nerdfighteria spake, "okay."

*Not to be confused with BadAssMotherFucker, btw. [It also helps to not be financially dependent on and/or currently living with your older sibling and his hot gf and/or under house arrest. Just sayin'.]


	5. Still A Better Love Story Than Twilight

When I heard Vanessa was STILL going to have her monthly pitch-in with her co-workers, I flipped my shit. I mean, when you have an Elf and a Dwarf hiding in the basement, you don't invite half the office over for _hors d'oeuvre_. I mean, who does that, anyway*?

But Scott said since we were probably being watched, or at least suspected, we had to do everything possible to not look suspicious. Anything outside the normal routine might raise a red flag, so we couldn't NOT have them over. Catch 22, right? I suppose the moral of the story is trust the ex-Marine…and the caviot is don't act all surprised when the Elf and the Dwarf manage to screw it up anyways.

Fuck. You try explaining in rudimentary, baby-speak Sindarin to an Elf who then translates into Westron for a Dwarf why they can't go upstairs and must remain quiet and calm in the basement for the next five hours. It's like playing fucking telephone with a class of seventh graders*. Add the sound of music, feet, and laughter with the smell of food and wine and it's a recipe for disaster. They don't know their walking targets for Area 51 or whatever, they don't understand why if you've been so hospitable and consider them such 'good friends' that you won't let them visit with everyone else, and they're completely fucking bored of seeing just your faces for the last so many weeks that even the promise to sneak them down some of the good smelling stuff doesn't do much to placate them.

If you've ever read _The Last Unicorn*_, you'd know that you can tell a whole hell of a lot about a person by what they think they see when they look at a Unicorn for the first time. It's the same thing with an Elf. Scott thought he was paramilitary or special forces, Vanessa thought he was some European hottie, the rabid fangirls at Comic Con thought he was Orlando Bloom, and I thought he was just some damn annoying cosplaying stalker who wouldn't stop jabbering away in Sindarin. But kids? Kids are innocent. They're hard to fool. Even with a baggy, hooded sweatshirt covering his face and ears they can usually see it straight away*.

But yeah. At your may-as-well-be sister-in-law's big fancy dinner party—or anywhere, really—keep the Elves away from the kids (the Dwarves will want nothing to do with them, btw. They're happy out on the lawn smoking and drinking by themselves, thank you very much. Just put up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign and call him your cranky old uncle and you'll be fine). Especially babies*.

But whatever you do, just remember:

DO NOT LET AN ELF HOLD A BABY.

EVER.

Not only will everyone's favorite Tolkien Elf not stop singing the entire time, he'll ruin your almost-sister-in-law's fancy shindig because he won't give it _back_.

So without further adieu, I present you with Legolas' Babysnatching Lullaby*:

_Gwinig 'lavrol_

_Gwinig 'ladhol_

_Glavro, glavro, glavro_

_Gladho, gladho, gladho_

_Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha_

_Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha_

_La la!_

_Cenin 'winig, gwinig vain far,_

_Laston 'winig, gwinig vain far_

_Cenig 'winig, gwinig vain far,_

_Lastog 'winig, gwinig vain far_

_Ech cên 'winig, gwinig vain far?_

_Ech lasta 'winig, gwinig vain far?_

_Ceno i-'winig, gwinig vain far,_

_Lasto i-'winig, gwining vain far!_

_Man i-'winig, i-'winig vain far?_

_E i-'winig, E gwinig vain far!_

_Man i-'winig, i-'winig vain far?_

_Ech i-'winig, Ech gwinig vain far!_

_Gwinig 'lavrol_

_Gwinig 'ladthol_

_Glavro, glavro, glavro_

_Gladho, gladho, gladho_

_Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha_

_Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha_

_La la!_

* * *

*Grown-up fancy dinner parties. Meh. I'm not so much a social recluse as I am socially awkward. Top it off with having to explain to thirty-odd strangers that 'yes, I AM the boyfriend's twenty-something year old gay little sister on house arrest bumming off your oh-so-gracious-and-wonderful co-worker' only to be told 'we've heard all about you!'

*Albeit with far fewer dick jokes.

*Not watched it. Shit, that movie is tripping _balls_. [That's not to say I don't love it…it's just watching it again as an adult you think, '1970's, how the hell did you get away with calling this a _kid's movie—_!']

*And they'll call him a fairy—quite correctly—and get their butts stuck in time-out for it. It's really not funny or fair, but it _is_ hilarious to watch the looks of horror and frantic apologies from their parents. "I don't know what's gotten into her!" or "he must've picked that up at school!" and my favorite "I'm having a word with his father when we get home!" etc., etc..

*Have you ever seen a grown man—er, Elf?—'s ovaries explode? It's not a pretty sight. I guess when it's been several centuries since you've seen one, the hormones might get the better of you, but STILL.

Elves are also under the mistaken impression that very young children must be emotionally and mentally stimulated AT ALL TIMES or like, the universe will end or something. Seriously, you'd think a baby in a car seat sitting by itself was the equivalent to just straight-up handing the fucking Ring to Sauron…

*[Or, as Spiderman calls it, "Still a Better Love Story Than Twilight".] Also, everything is fucking _Sesame Street_ to them. Repetition, grammar, person and mutation…they really can't help themselves. Although I suppose if our language was as fucking hard to learn as Sindarin, we'd never miss an early educational opportunity, either.

Literal Translation:

Babbling baby,

Laughing baby,

Babble, babble, babble

Laugh, laugh, laugh

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

La la!

I see a little baby, a little baby so pretty,

I hear a little baby, a little baby so pretty

You see a little baby, a little baby so pretty,

You hear a little baby, a little baby so pretty

Do you see a little baby, a little baby so pretty?

Do you see a little baby, a little baby so pretty?

See the little baby, a little baby so pretty,

Hear the little baby, a little baby so pretty!

Who is the little baby, the little baby so pretty?

She is the little baby, she is a little baby so pretty!

Who is the little baby, the little baby so pretty?

You are the little baby, you are a little baby so pretty!

Babbling baby,

Laughing baby,

Babble, babble, babble

Laugh, laugh, laugh

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

La la!

Even More Literal English Translation:

Baby babbling,

Baby laughing,

Babble, babble, babble

Laugh, laugh, laugh

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

La la!

See-I [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite

Hear-I [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite

See-you [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite

Hear-you [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite

It-is-you-who sees [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite?

It-is-you-who hears [a] baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite?

See the-baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite,

Hear the-baby-little, [a] baby-little fair quite!

Who [is] the-baby-little, the-baby-little fair quite?

It-is-she-who-is the-little-baby, it-is-she-who-is [a] baby-little fair quite!

Who [is] the-baby-little, the-baby-little fair quite?

It-is-you-who [are] the-baby-little, it-is-you-who [are] [a] baby-little fair quite!

Baby babbling,

Baby laughing,

Babble, babble, babble

Laugh, laugh, laugh

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

Gla-la-la-la-lha-lha

La la!


	6. Talk to the Hand

And another thing about babysitting Elves: they're damn sneaky bastards.

I woke up in the wee hours* of Monday morning to take a piss only to discover Legs wasn't in the basement sleeping next to Gimli or dismantling Scott's weight machines. He sure as hell wasn't in my room watching me sleep, another one of his creeptastically disturbing innocent habits*. He wasn't upstairs taking another one of his legendarily long showers, he wasn't in Scott and Vanessa's room hoping to see them make a baby AGAIN*, and he wasn't even up on the roof stargazing (or at least attempting to through the smog).

…well, fuck.

I mean, he never got far from Gimli, so that's a good thing. But he was in a strange place and the stars were different (and/or completely obscured by pollution) and if you think the planet would tear itself apart for one cell from a Time Lord, it'd fucking Super Nova for the chance to look at an immortal Elf's telomeres. One arrest. One DNA swab. That's all it would take.

…so it's a very, very good thing that Elves don't habitually engage in behavior that one might mistake for B&E and/or pedophilia, like sneaking your brother's girlfriend's neighbor's toddler down the back trellis to play pretty pretty princess in the back yard.

By the time I found them, they'd raided the flower beds and they BOTH had intricate floral wreaths and braids. It was patently ridiculous. They'd also managed to dance the lawn flat. Scott was going to kill me.

"LEGS!" I hissed, somehow maintaining enough composure not to swear/scream at him on sight. "What the _fu—dgesicles_ are you doing!"

"Look!" Little Cindy Lou Who* cried, clinging to his slender hands. "I'm a fairy princess!"

"This is NOT OKAY!" I whisper-shouted as I marched up to them. "This, this is unacceptable! Inexcusable!" I pressed my fingertip firmly against his chest and spat at him in Sindarin. "_Ú-maer! Baw! Faeg!_"

Cindy Lou Who here had a future in comedy. Bitch didn't miss a fucking _beat_. "Mommy says not 'pposed to say that word."

Shit. Kids say the Darnedest things. I had this mental image of me walking across the yard to call the last Elf in Arda—all six foot something of him—a fag to his face, and it took me a minute to get it back together.

"_Ech 'wannen_, mister," I promised him. "So, so _'wannen_." Of course my terrible _Im pedin edhellen_ pidgin didn't really make much sense, but he got the gist. He gave her one last dejected kiss on the forehead, and gave me a look that would assure anyone that the outermost circles of the Void were reserved for betrayers, mutineers, and those who interrupted the sacred Elf/child moonlight séance*.

"Hi, honey," I said, kneeling down to her eye level. "Remember me?" [The bleach-blonde crew-cut inner-city Lesbian parolee in Suburbia, complete with ankle monitor accessory? Yeah. She'd remember me, alright.]

She nodded. Precociously. You can always tell the ones who know they're cute.

I tried to take her hand. "Let's go back to bed, okay?"

"I don't wanna!" she stamped her feet clung to Legs' legs. "I wanna be a princess!"

Stupid, spoiled brat.

…Stupid, poncey Elf-prince. It took all the bribing and baby talk I could muster to convince her to say night-night to the fairy, take my hand and go home. THEN there was another good fifteen minutes or so trying to take that damned wreath off her head. I mean, there was no way I was going to risk sneaking her back in, and there was no way in hell I could pass her off to her parents with the 'she snuck out and I found her' story if she was wearing 'Fairy Princess Floral by Legolas™'.

In the end I had to half-carry, half-drag her butt back home. I hefted her over one hip, and rang the doorbell. It took about ten times and a hundred yaps of the world's worst Yorkies just to get the upstairs lights on, and even more to get them to the door.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Next Door asked, with the 'you're lowering my property taxes by simply existing' tone that one so rarely encounters in everyday life.

"This your kid?" I asked.

"The alarm didn't go off! I don't know how she got out!" she wailed…and that look of worry was almost immediately replaced by suspicion shared between the two of them, and fingers reaching for a cellphone to call the police. "Cindy, honey, tell mommy and daddy how you got outside."

"The fairy!" Cindy giggled. "The fairy came and got me!"

"I think she sleep-walks," I lied. "I'd invest in a lock for that window."

"Night night!" Cindy called, waving sleepily.

"Yeah. See ya, kid."

"_No vaer mellon nîn!_" she sang.

…oh, fuck. Of course he taught her Sindarin. And of course she wouldn't shut up about it. Even as the door slammed shut in my face I could hear her prattling*:

_Pedo 'no vaer'! Pedo 'no vaer'!_

_Lebir bain pedir 'no vaer'!_

_Mellyn bain pedir 'no vaer'!_

_Ach mellyn bain aderthathar!_

Which is the final verse of a well-known Sindarin finger chant, apparently. I call it 'Talk to the Hand'*:

_Atheg, Emig,_

_Honeg, Nethig,_

_Gwinig ereb_

_Leber nîn, in-lebir nîn, in-lebir nîn bain!_

_Pedin 'mae govannen 'winig'!_

_Pedir 'mae govannen 'winig'!_

_Pedig 'mae govannen mellon nîn'!_

_Pedo 'mae govannen mellyn nîn'!_

_A! Tiro han, tiro han!_

_Plado han, plado han!_

_Glinno han, glinno han!_

_Glinno han achen!_

_i-Atheg, i-Emig,_

_i-Choneg, i-Nethig,_

_i-'Winig ereb._

_Leber, i-leber gîn, in-lebir gîn bain!_

_Pedig 'mae govannen mellyn'!_

_Pedir 'mae govannen mellyn'!_

_Pedin 'mae govannen 'winig'!_

_Pedinc 'mae govannen mellon'!_

_A! Tiro han, tiro han!_

_Plado han, plado han!_

_Glinno han, glinno han,_

_Glinno han enni!_

_Min paur, tâd poer_

_Gogerir varad veleith._

_Man hen? Gwililith!_

_i-'Wilwileth reviatha or ven!_

_i-'Wilwileth revia or ven!_

_i-'Wilwileth reviassa or ven!_

_i-'Wilwileth bannen._

_Man sad i-'wilwileth?_

_Tiro hen, tiro hen!_

_Sí E! Sí E!_

_i-'Wilwileth hí!_

_Nawb, nawb, i-nobed 'âr i-tlhaw gîn!_

_Atheg_

_adh Emig_

_a Choneg_

_an Nethig_

_an Gwinig_

_an Nethig_

_a Choneg_

_adh Emig_

_adh Atheg_

_Nawb, nawb, i-nobed 'âr i-mund gîn!_

_Gwinig, Nethig,_

_Honeg, Emig_

_Adh Atheg mêd._

_Pedo 'no vaer'! Pedo 'no vaer'!_

_Lebir bain pedir 'no vaer'!_

_Mellyn bain pedir 'no vaer'!_

_Ach mellyn bain aderthathar!_

We almost—_almost!_—got away with it*, too, but Mrs. Next Door happened to relate to Vanessa out getting the mail a week or so later that little Cindy Lou Who hadn't stopped babbling in 'Fairy' since she went sleepwalking, and they'd gotten worried, but the speech therapist and the child development specialist and the pediatrician all said it was normal and just a stage and nothing to worry about and imaginary friends were a common occurrence, etc. etc. did she know that the HOA didn't allow renters and that a short-term stay was defined as less than fourteen days hint, hint, wink, wink?

Vanessa was furious. Scott was livid. Legs was nonplussed. No one asked my opinion…and Gimli? Gimli was just Gimli.

* * *

*See what I did there?

*Think less possessive, stalking, creepy Edward Cullen and more 'Omg I'm so fucking bored when are you going to wake up? Seriously, you only live for like a hundred years and you spend a third of it unconscious! MORTALZ SUCK!' [Although to be fair, if I was going to say it from his perspective it'd be more like, 'Hey, hey, Ida, Ida, are you awake yet? No? What about…now? Are you awake now? Not awake yet? Again? What about…now? Are you awake yet? Are you awake yet? Hey, hey, Ida! Hey, are you awake yet? Wake up…now! Oh, great! Hi, Ida, Ida! I'm so happy to see you let me kiss you! Ida, Ida! Look, look, look you're awake and now we can do things together again! This is the MOST EXCITING THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME IN ALL MY LIFE EVER—! Oh…you…you went back to sleep? But, but—okay. Hey, hey, Ida, Ida, are you awake yet?']

*Elves don't celebrate birthdays, they celebrate 'conception days'. We tend to equate their lifelong (and afterlife long) celibacy/exclusive sexual monogamy with prudishness, but the truth is far from it. Marriage is sex is kids to them…and Elves love babies and everything about making them since they're a physical representation of your everlasting love. You can see where this is going: "You're consummating your marriage—?! Congratulations! You guys are so cute together! Yay, babies! I love babies! Babies are adorable! Babies are the best! I bet your baby will be super amazing! I want to hold all the babies—What? Why are you yelling? Ow! Hey! Stop throwing things at me! _I'm just watching in celebration of this very momentous and joyous occasion for you—!_"

*Name redacted to protect the identity of a minor.

*Or spoil _Game of Thrones_.

*She used the Gondorian pronunciation obviously, since there's a shitton of Sindarin sounds we don't have in [at least our dialect of] English and they didn't have in Westron. So 'Ah' instead of 'Ach', 'Mellin' instead of "Mellyn", etc.

*The thing with Elf fingers that you've got to understand for this to make any sense is that they all have "play names"—as in Sindarin is so damn confusing if you don't start them young, they'll never learn. Ada, Emel, Hon, Neth and Gwinnig are all some of the very first words an Elf baby might hear and need to learn. Hence the five digits on your hands are literally little father, little mother, little brother, little sister, and little baby, respectively.

Father, Mother

Brother, Sister,

Baby all alone

My finger, my fingers, all my fingers!

I say 'Hello little baby'!

They say 'Hello little baby'!

You say 'Hello my friend'!

Say 'Hello, my friends'!

Oh! Look at them, look at them!

Touch them, touch them!

Sing them, sing them

Sing them to yourself!

The father, the mother

The brother, the sister

The baby all alone,

Your finger, your fingers, all your fingers!

You say 'Hello my friends'!

They say 'Hello my friends'!

I say 'Hello little baby'!

We say 'Hello friend!"

Oh! Look at them, look at them!

Touch them, touch them!

Sing them, sing them

Sing them to me!

One fist, two fists

Together build a strong tower

What is this? A butterfly!

The Butterfly will fly over us

The Butterfly flies over us

The butterfly flew over us

The butterfly is gone

Where is the butterfly?

Look for her! Look for her!

Here she is! Here she is!

The butterfly is here!

Pincher, Pincher, the pinchers have your ears!

Father

And mother

And brother

And sister

And baby

And sister

And brother

And mother

And Father

Pincher, pincher, the pinchers have your nose!

Baby, Sister,

Brother, Mother

And useful Father.

Say 'goodbye'! Say 'goodbye'!

All fingers say 'goodbye'!

All friends say 'goodbye'!

Yet all friends will meet again!

*Those meddling kids!


End file.
